Brian Martin

In the
late 1960s Marlene Dixon worked at the University of Chicago. She was a
prominent radical both in scholarship and in popular causes. When her position
came up for renewal she was not rehired. This was widely interpreted as both
sex and political discrimination.[1]

Dixon then
obtained a post in the Sociology Department at McGill University in Montreal.
Her Marxist views and participation in radical activities quickly generated
opposition within the department. When her position came up for renewal, an
attempt was made to block her reappointment. This failed because her
publication record was too good and because a number of other academics
provided support against the obviously political attack.

Dixon's
trouble had only begun. When formal procedures were insufficient to get rid of
her, her opponents in the department began a campaign of petty harassment.
Nothing that Dixon did was well received. Her suggestions were blocked, her
attempts at innovation were sabotaged, minor mistakes were blown out of
proportion, her students were harassed, and vicious rumors about her were
circulated. This applied not only to Dixon but to anyone else who sided with
her. Eventually the harassment drove Dixon out of the department. Other
academics who left as a consequence of the campaign were radical political
scientist Pauline Vaillancourt and internationally renowned sociologist
Immanuel Wallerstein. Prominence and performance are no guarantee against this
sort of academic witchhunt.

Dixon's
experiences at McGill are documented in her book Things Which Are Done in
Secret,[2] one of the most detailed accounts of such
academic machinations.

Once
an academic is attacked, for whatever reason, a process of scapegoating may
begin. This can happen even if the academic is formally vindicated. Instead of
realizing or admitting their own role in the attacks, the attackers blame the
victim and launch further attacks, sometimes in most unscrupulous ways.

In
Australia, the most notorious case of academic scapegoating was the horrendous
attack on Sidney Sparkes Orr who was sacked from his chair at the University of
Tasmania in the 1950s. Colleagues who supported Orr were also penalized, while
many of those who joined in the attack were awarded with jobs and promotions.[3]

A leading
official in an Australian university staff association told me that certain
people in his university, who had gotten off side with key figures in the
administration, would find it exceedingly hard to get ahead no matter what they
did. Their job and grant applications were given the hardest time, and even
minor requests for leave were stymied.

One of
the most prominent attacks on academic freedom in Australia in the 1970s was
directed against Clyde Manwell, Professor of Zoology at the University of
Adelaide. In 1971, Manwell and his wife Ann Baker made public criticisms of the
South Australian government's fruit fly spraying program. As a direct result of
this, the senior professor of Zoology, H.G. Andrewartha, made a complaint to
the Vice-Chancellor which led to an attempt to dismiss Manwell from his post.

In the
end, the complaints were shown to be trivial or false. For example, one of them
concerned errors in statistics in Baker and Manwell's book on evolution - and
most of the alleged errors turned out not to be errors at all. But the minor
nature of the allegations belied the seriousness of the attack on Manwell.
Manwell's "crime" was to publicly question the fruit fly spraying
program in South Australia, which was backed by powerful figures in the
government who had connections with people at the University of Adelaide. The
case was not resolved until 1975.[4] It involved among other things a committee
of inquiry, a student occupation and a court case.

Aside
from the time and enormous stress involved in defending himself, Manwell's
Australian Research Grant Committee research grants were cut off, in spite of
his continued performance as one of the most productive researchers in the
university.[5] This is a perfect example of the scapegoat effect.

A
detailed account of the Manwell-University of Adelaide case is included in the
recently published book Intellectual Suppression.[6] But that account was already incomplete before it appeared. A further attack on
Manwell was launched after the book went to press.

In
June 1985 Manwell obtained a note from his physician stating that he was
suffering from hypertension and that his teaching load should be adjusted to
avoid stress. The head of the Zoology Department, Professor W. D. Williams -
who filled Andrewartha's position after the latter's retirement - queried the
physician's assessment and alleged to the university registrar that Manwell did
not spend sufficient time in the department and that Manwell's teaching load
was "by far the lightest" in the department.[7] It soon became clear
that Manwell was expected to spend more time teaching or else dismissal
proceedings might begin.

Professor
Williams in previous years had never complained about Manwell's arrangements
for attendance in the department or about Manwell's teaching load. His
criticisms were made only after receiving the note from Manwell's
physician. William's response was hardly one calculated to reduce Manwell's
hypertension.

The
figures which Williams provided to the Registrar about teaching loads were
intriguing. For the teaching of undergraduates, only formal contact hours were
listed: no time was allocated for preparing lectures and demonstrations, marking
papers or consulting with students. The limited total was less than three hours
per student per year for the whole department. Manwell was above average in the
figures for undergraduate teaching.

The claim that Manwell had the lightest teaching load
arose from the figures for supervising postgraduates and fourth year honors
students.

Williams
gave figures amounting to 100 to 200 hours per student per year. These figures
completely tipped the balance against Manwell. But the figures are misleading
in several ways.

The figures presented by Williams indicated there
are 28 postgraduates in the department. Official lists indicated only 14 or 15.

The figures indicated that Manwell spent no time
with postgraduates That is incorrect. (When a survey by postgraduates in the department of
time spent with members of the staff was made, the figures showed Manwell close
to the median. Some staff members, including Williams, received zeros. This
student effort was not well received by certain staff members.)

The University of Adelaide officially classifies
postgraduates under research rather than teaching. If postgraduate supervision
were counted as teaching, it might well be considered improper for staff to put
their names on papers reporting postgraduate research.

Using
the method of comparison adopted by Williams himself in years past - the total
number of different lectures given in a year - Manwell had the highest teaching
load in the department.[8]

The
attack on Manwell's teaching would be laughable if it were not so serious in
its implications. But then, Manwell could hardly have been attacked on his
research, which stands head and shoulders above that of most others in the
department.

Williams
resigned as chairman of the Zoology Department at the end of 1985. Manwell in
1986 decided to negotiate early retirement for reasons of health. Williams was
reappointed as chairman in June 1986.

To
determine whether someone is being unfairly attacked, the easiest procedure is
the double standard check. Are there other academics, with equal or worse
performance than the person, who are not being criticized? Anyone familiar with
academia will know that there are quite a number of academics who do no
research, who are at best mediocre teachers, or who are haphazard in the
performance of their duties due to laziness, alcoholism or incompetence. When
those who are excellent researchers or inspiring teachers - but who have
offended the powers that be through the expression of their views - are singled
out for attack, there is a good chance that a double standard is being applied.
The sad thing is how many academics, who are supposed to be searchers after
truth, will go along with victimization.

A good
place to apply the double standard test is to the case of John de Castro Lopo,
a lecturer in the Department of Economics at the University of Newcastle. De
Castro Lopo has encountered severe difficulties an antagonism at the university
over the past decade. His case is quite separate from a widely known case at
the University of Newcastle during the same period, which involved the
dismissal of tenured senior lecturer Michael Spautz.[9]

From
1973 to 1975, De Castro Lopo was convenor of the University of Newcastle Staff
Association's Subcommittee on Open Government. In this position, he pushed for
reforms such as the right of staff to access to their personal files, for their
right to respond to adverse material in their files, for the requirement that
the administration give reasons for denial of promotion and other adverse decisions,
for the introduction of appeal procedures against such decisions, and for the
availability of information about the running of the university. Such rights
are widely accepted as basic to any liberal democracy, but they do not exist in
many universities. In the feudal-style hierarchies in some universities, the
demand for these rights is seen as radical and destabilizing rather than mildly
reformist.

According
to de Castro Lopo,[10] in 1976 he was called in by his head of department,
Professor Clem Tisdell, and told that life would be made difficult for him
unless he moderated his activities. Specifically, de Castro Lopo alleges that
he was told that social pressure in the department would be mobilized against
him, that he would be given "the treatment" by being given menial
tasks, and that pressure would be put on potential examiners of his Ph.D.
thesis so that it would never be passed. Tisdell was de Castro Lopo's Ph.D.
supervisor at the time, and as a result of this threat de Castro Lopo dropped his
Ph.D. studies.

De
Castro Lopo applied for promotion to senior lecturer several times, first in
1975. Each application was denied. After the third rejection, he appealed in
1979 to the University Council against this decision on the grounds of possible
prejudice: he claimed that Tisdell, head of the Economics Department and a
member of the Personnel Committee of the University Senate, had displayed bias
against him.

Tisdell
on his part says that he has never threatened de Castro Lop nor discriminated
against him.[11]

The
university had no official appeal procedures to deal with adverse decisions on
promotion; that is one of the things de Castro Lopo had been pushing for.
Council set up an ad hoc committee to look into the matter. The committee was
not empowered to change the decision of the original promotion decision. But
the committee did find that Tisdell had shown an 'appearance of bias.'[12] This
was a hollow victory, since no remedy was offered to de Castro Lopo. It was
simply suggested that he apply again for promotion. So in 1979 he applied for
the fourth time. Again it was denied. Again no reasons were given. Again he
"appealed" to Council.

This
time de Castro Lopo appealed on the ground that the Vice-Chancellor, Professor
Don George - chair of the Senate committee deciding on promotion - had
displayed prejudice against him, for example by making prejudicial comments in
the presence of several members of the University Council.[13]

De
Castro Lopo also appealed on the ground that unstated criteria had been used to
deny promotion. The Vice-Chancellor admitted that age was a factor in denying
the promotion. (De Castro Lopo was in his 40s at the time, though what
relevance this has to promotion is not clear.[14] The Appeal Committee said
that no objection could be made to the age criterion for deciding on
promotions![15] De Castro Lopo lost the appeal. Since then he has publicly
stated that he will not apply for promotion again.

The
double standard test is useful here. While de Castro Lopo's age was held
against him in at least one of his promotion attempts, a lecturer in another
department in the university, then nearly 60, was promoted.

De
Castro Lopo has since initiated a case before the Equal Opportunity Tribunal,
on the grounds of discrimination due to national or ethnic origin, alleging
that prejudicial actions by members of the University of Newcastle have hurt
the progress of his career.

De
Castro Lopo on occasion has embarrassed the university administration by
publicly pointing out irregularities and abuses within the university. For
example, in a letter to the newsletter of the University of Newcastle in
August, 1983, de Castro Lopo stated:

"Earlier
this year the Vice-Chancellor issued a public statement in which he mentioned
the existence of regulations constraining the ability of academic staff to earn
income outside the university.

"I contend
that the said 'regulations' are not being applied, or are being applied
selectively, as is normally the case in this institution. I know of a Professor
(and Head of Department yet) who for over a year has been residing in Sydney,
where he devoted much ... the greater proportion of his working time to the
advancement of his (private) professional and commercial interests."[16]

The contrast here
with Clyde Manwell's situation is striking. At the University of Adelaide,
Manwell's position has been threatened because of allegations that he is not
spending as much time in the department with students as do other staff. At the
University of Newcastle, what would seem to be a clear and blatant violation of
university regulations was entirely ignored.

De
Castro Lopo's situation is a difficult one. For several years, the two
consecutive heads of the Department of Economics have assigned him duties which
he considers not part of the terms of his employment, such as marking papers
for someone else's course. De Castro Lopo argues that academics are not simply
servants of their heads of departments, who can exercise arbitrary powers.

Given
his previous experiences, de Castro Lopo naturally believes that many of the
demands on him made by the heads of the Economics Department are part of a
campaign of harassment. After he refuses these duties, a complaint is made to
the Vice-Chancellor by the head. The Vice-Chancellor then writes to de
Castro Lopo asking him to explain his conduct. De Castro Lopo replies. The
Vice-Chancellor does not reply, nor even acknowledge receipt of de Castro
Lopo's letter. Nothing further transpires until the next complaint.

It may
only be a coincidence, but new staff discipline procedures at the University of
Newcastle were proposed in mid-1985. They would allow the Vice-Chancellor to
unilaterally suspend any member of staff, and provide for dismissal on the
grounds of persistent neglect of duties.

There
are a number of factors which make it easier for academics to scapegoat one of
their colleagues. As in other occupations, in academia it is important to fit
into the prevailing ethos. This may include going along with "the
boys" in sports, humor or drinking. More important is not upsetting others
in day-to-day interactions, which means going along with the standard ways of
doing things and not rocking the boat by criticizing the normal way things are
done. The insidious part of this is that one's sex or national origin may be
sufficient in itself to "upset" others in the department. Anyone can
become an outsider to the academic ethos, but it is harder for women or
non-British immigrants to fit in.

Marlene
Dixon undoubtedly raised academic hackles by being an extremely confident and
outspoken woman. Sydney Orr, who was prominent in staff criticisms of the
administration of the University of Tasmania in the 1950s, was from Ireland.
Manwell is originally from the United States. That may be one reason why he was
not sensitive to "proper behavior" and spoke out about fruit fly
spraying, and why so few academics openly defended him against the University
of Adelaide administration. Michael Spautz, who was sacked from the University
of Newcastle, is also from the United States. Frank Knopfelmacher, a prominent
opponent of Soviet communism who in a famous case in the 1960s was blocked from
a post at Sydney University, started his life in Czechoslovakia.

De
Castro Lopo is originally from Portugal. That may be one reason why he has been
so "insensitive" as to openly criticize and challenge university
procedures, or in other words to exercise what should be a right and indeed a
duty in a democracy. It may also explain why so few academics have supported
him against higher officials in the University of Newcastle

One of
the stated goals of the university is to encourage critical thinking and the
search for truths which transcend parochial interests. The sad irony is that
critical perspectives are so often discouraged in practice, especially when
they bring to light unpleasant truths about the university itself.

10. John
de Castro Lopo, statement, December 5, 1985. De Castro Lopo wrote a letter to
the Vice-Chancellor in 1976 with these charges, specifying that this letter was
to be given to Tisdell only if Tisdell agreed to respond to the allegations in
it. Tisdell declined to receive the letter on this basis.

11. Clem Tisdell,
letter to Brian Martin, November 20, 1985.

12. Report
from the Committee of Appeal (University of Newcastle Council), June 15, 1979.

13. Stephen Date,
statement, April 22, 1980.

14. See note 15 below.

15. David W.
Dockrill, "Matters Arising Out of Mr. J. de Castro Lopo's Second Appeal re
Failure to Gain Promotion to Senior Lecturer," The University of Newcastle
Staff Association & Newcastle Division UASANSW, April 14, 1981.